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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526925">Every Fallen Feather</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer'>RiaTheDreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hell Wins the Apocalypse (Good Omens), Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Demon Landlords, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Imprisonment, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Self-Sacrifice, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:08:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526925</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I wouldn’t be so worried,” Aziraphale had told him while embraced by black feathers. “Your love isn’t a taint, my dear. It is kind and so many other adjectives you would object to.”</i>
</p><p>It all began when the Archangels delivered one extra threat. It was nothing that Aziraphale wouldn’t survive, but it did slow him down by just a few minutes. One hundred and forty-six seconds to be exact. Most would argue that amount of time could hardly make a difference, but in this specific case, it had one fateful consequence: when Aziraphale calls Crowley to inform him of the Antichrist’s location, his call goes straight to voicemail. </p><p>Things get worse from there.</p><p>When Armageddon unfolds with Hell on the winning side, Crowley finds that he can no longer hope; he can, however, protect, and he will do so with his entire being.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Do It With Style</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale makes a call.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re ridiculous,” Uriel told him, and Aziraphale knew it to be true. Crowley had said the very same thing so many times before, though the demon’s tone had always managed to be much kinder.</p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth to agree; maybe then, they would leave-</p><p>They all felt it before they heard it. The message was carried by the wind, echoed by the distant trumpets.</p><p>“Oh, this is great. It’s starting.”</p><p>Uriel smiled but did not let go.</p><p>Pain was still radiating from his middle, leaving Aziraphale breathless, and when Uriel leaned even closer, fear laced around his throat like a noose.</p><p>“I- Well,” Aziraphale said and blinked again. “One mustn't be late for that.”</p><p>There was an attempt of a small smile, but it died beneath their unyielding glares.</p><p>“We thought you were planning to sit this one out, Aziraphale,” Michael said, her tone letting him know that wasn’t an option.</p><p>“I- No. But – as- as I said – I just need to make a few quick calls. No need to wait for little old me.”</p><p>“You are aware of your duties.”</p><p>The ones he would be breaking. The ones he had already broken.</p><p>“Of course. Of course, but-“</p><p>“There are no buts, Aziraphale,” Michael said. “As you should know.”</p><p>They wouldn’t leave. Of course not. They were here for- Well, that was yet to be revealed. Either a rather firm warning, or they were skipping straight to the punishment. Aziraphale wouldn’t have expected the latter, but now, pinned against the wall, he wouldn’t put it past them. A drastic move, but effective.</p><p>Sandalphon’s fist had been a dreadful promise of what was to come, but if they forced him back to Heaven, it’d deprive Aziraphale the chance to warn Crowley. Aziraphale had ended the Arrangement out of fear – fear of punishment, his own and Crowley’s, fear of what was to come, fear of his own faltering judgments – but it did not mean he could not reach out to the demon one last time if only to keep him safe.</p><p>“Well.” Aziraphale tried to slink free from Uriel’s unyielding grip and failed. “Yes. Bu- <em>And </em>I am, well, uhm. This is hardly a proper solution to whatever disagreement we might-“</p><p>“<em>Disagreement</em>,” Michael snapped, her eyes as cold as her tone. “Do not confuse yourself. Your decisions, however misguided they may be, are nothing but an act of treason.”</p><p>“You know how we treat traitors in wartime?”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t help but flinch at Sandalphon’s question. Half of him expected it to be accompanied by another punch, but the Archangel kept his hands still.</p><p>Instead, he smirked. “He looks guilty.”</p><p>“He is,” Michael said. “We have proof.”</p><p>Aziraphale would have gulped had his throat not been constricted by the invisible snare. “I-I assure you-“</p><p>“What?” Uriel asked him, daring him to answer.</p><p>It seemed so pathetic. To be unable to defend himself after an immortal lifetime of excusing his involvement with Crowley. All the doubts that had followed him, his own fear and despair. The constant dance of questioning the demon’s actions, only to listen to his critical questions, his grief, and anger, and then to finally trust every part of himself to the Ineffable Plan.</p><p>It’d been small steps. What was the harm? To engage in conversation with Crowley, to listen to him, to share their first fruit together, to find shared comfort in their Earth-bound duty? It was kindness, and kindness should not be frowned upon.</p><p>The human life – with all its temptations and sins – was an experience of love, and Aziraphale had chosen to experience Her creation with his entire being, whether it meant consuming a mouthful (or more) of wine, cherishing the humans’ inventions (oh the wonderful printing press or simply a ride in the Bentley), to engage with their art (and so much of it; all the music he’d listened to, the paintings he’d admired, the books he’d read), to experience it by Crowley’s side – to lead the demon where he could, and be led when needed.</p><p>It was a trust that Aziraphale had been the one to break. His tongue still tasted bitter from the words.</p><p><em>We’re not friends</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t a lie. Whatever he and Crowley may have had – that wonderful, forbidden thing that Aziraphale had denied – had ended as a result of Aziraphale’s words. Aziraphale was a coward, but not cowardly enough to deny his own cowardice.</p><p>“We are needed elsewhere,” Michael said and took a step back. All eyes went to her. “But we haven’t forgotten you, Aziraphale.”</p><p>To think, once those words would actually have brought him comfort.</p><p>Uriel’s hands finally let go of his collar, and Aziraphale would have stumbled backward had his heels not already scraped against the wall.</p><p>The Archangels looked away from him, turning their heads towards the sky instead.</p><p>Then they left. It didn’t matter that Aziraphale didn’t follow them. He could, in theory, try to run. That had been Crowley’s suggestion – his plea, and Aziraphale had rejected it twice, now.</p><p>The idea still lingered, even though it would prove fruitless, should Armageddon still happen. Neither side would be merciful to Aziraphale now, and he suspected it’d be even worse for Crowley.</p><p>That left one option – to make a final attempt at stopping it.</p>
<hr/><p>In the Heavenly light from the circle, Aziraphale would expect his hands to be shaking. He felt shaken to his very core – his grace was twisting with the shock of it. To his own surprise, he was able to move swiftly, without hesitation, knowing exactly what to do.</p><p>He had to call Crowley.</p><p>Better late than never, Aziraphale supposed, painfully aware that he could have told Crowley earlier. He could have told him the moment he knew.</p><p>He hadn’t.</p><p>Mistakes could either be learned from, or they could be fixed. Aziraphale attempted to do both.</p><p>Aziraphale picked up the phone and turned his back to the circle.</p><p>“Hello. I know where the Anthi-“</p><p>“Aziraphale.”</p><p>It was a whisper; raspy and unfamiliar to him, cold enough to send a chill down his spine.</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said with a frown. “I’m sorry; who is this?”</p><p>“Seems like a got my very own guardian angel. What a funny timing.”</p><p>“Actually-“ Aziraphale opened his mouth, ready to explain the difference between the terms ‘guardian angel’ and ‘principality’, though a rivaling part of him was reminding him that now was not the time for this discussion. That part of him seemed to share Crowley’s voice – unlike the actual whisper on the phone.</p><p>Before he could act on his decision and hang up the phone, something small, white, and alive fell from it. It was followed by more of its kind until the floor beneath the phone had a small puddle of squirming maggots.</p><p>“Good Lord!” Aziraphale jumped back in horror before they could spill onto his shoes, and the phone fell to hang from the desk by its cord, still spewing wriggling larva. The puddle grew in front of Aziraphale’s widened eyes, and in a matter of seconds, it was as tall as himself. The living, twisting pillar moved, taking shape of an actual person who preceded to step out of the wriggling mass.</p><p>He was followed by a stench of decay, but Aziraphale knew he was a demon long before then. His dead pitch-black eyes landed on Aziraphale and lit up in hunger.</p><p>“Crowley’s pet angel,” the demon said and tilted his head. The toad clung tighter to his skull. “Funny, indeed.”</p><p>Judging from the toad, this must be Hastur. Aziraphale had suffered through too many toad complaints and puns from a drunk Crowley through the years to not know who this demon was. One fateful night, the alcohol had made Crowley slip up. His voice had slurred when he’d revealed his fears. “My lot… <em>My </em>lot. They send Hastur. Or Ligur. If you’re lucky.”</p><p>The conversation had eventually turned cheerful. Just one dark thought among so many pleasant drunken ones. But Aziraphale had remembered, and his worries had grown in the following decades.</p><p>They had always centered around Crowley alone with his angered co-workers.</p><p>Now, Aziraphale was facing Hastur by himself.</p><p>Aziraphale held up his hands, feeling his fingers tingle with divine power as he prepared to smite the demon. The power came to him with ease, despite how long it’d been since the last time he’d had to fend off a demonic foe. Aziraphale supposed it was muscle memory, much like riding a velocipede, except he’d never learned to ride one of those. “I am warning you-“</p><p>Hastur had the element of surprise and didn’t hesitate to use it as he lunged forward, avoiding Aziraphale’s glowing hands and forcing him to take a step backward. Aziraphale had his back against a bookshelf and used it to take a stance. Unable to budge any further, he let his hands glow brighter, hoping to keep Hastur from advancing.</p><p>Before the demon could either advance or back away, the doorbell called for their attention. They both turned their heads, but Aziraphale was the only one who recognized a frenzied Sergeant Shadwell.</p><p>“Demons!” the human cried, pointing at them with a shaking hand.</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting towards Hastur. “Well, <em>partly</em>-“</p><p>The demon lunged again with a new target this time, and Aziraphale was forced to move again, spreading out his arms to keep the demon and human apart. The air was tense with holy and demonic power.</p><p>“Leave!” Aziraphale cried over his shoulder. “Please, this does <em>not </em>concern you-“</p><p>“Foul fiends!”</p><p>“Humans,” Hastur snorted, and so began the twisted dance between an angel, a demon, and a human. Aziraphale was leading, and he quickly came to hate the role as he struggled to keep Shadwell away from the circle, Hastur away from Shadwell, and himself at a safe distance from Hastur.</p><p>With no choice but to use himself as a shield, the dance brought consequences. Even though Hastur’s hands were burned by his grace, the demon kept trying to grapple him, and whenever a gloved hand closed around his limbs, it left bruises and maggots behind when Aziraphale tore himself away.</p><p>The angel yelped when Hastur’s free nails tore into his skin, and he ended up stumbling into Shadwell who smacked him with a book and yelled a stream of angry words.</p><p>It occurred to Aziraphale that he was attempting an exorcism.</p><p> “-I charge a to quit this place-“</p><p>“Stay away from the circle! It is not- Oomph!”</p><p>Hastur had grabbed his bleeding arm and proceeded to haul him across the shop, away from the glowing circle. Books fell from the shelf when Aziraphale caught himself (oh his poor Dickens!), and then Hastur growled when the angel threw up a hand to smite him again.</p><p>“<em>Mortal </em>humans,” the demon hissed and turned towards Shadwell who was holding a lighter of all things. “Foolish humans.”</p><p>Aziraphale stumbled when he tried to shield Shadwell, who was threatening Hastur rather than running from him, and when his knee failed him, Aziraphale acted out of instinct. He spread out his wings, ripping his coat in the process, and Shadwell was sent flying towards the exit, away from the demonic claws, when the angel’s right wing slammed into his torso.</p><p>Having revealed a part of his true form, Aziraphale was shaking with exhaustion and ethereal energy. His voice echoed when he commanded, “<em>Leave</em>!”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t have the chance to see if Shadwell did what he was told as Hastur closed in on him again. “Such nice, white wings,” the demon told him. “It’s a surprise Crowley hasn’t tainted them yet. Or maybe not.”</p><p>Aziraphale had been panting, but at the mention of Crowley’s name, he straightened his back in a surge of strength. Hastur had come from Crowley’s apartment – and that was a worrisome sign that was resulting in thoughts Aziraphale did not have the time to deal with at the moment.</p><p>“Begone, demon!” Aziraphale cried with a hand pressed against his aching chest.</p><p>“You think you can scare me?” Hastur laughed. “After Crowley’s tamed you? I’ll make you squeal, and I’ll make him scream watching. Force your feathers down his throat-“</p><p>The threat was just that – a threat. But Hastur’s dream scenario had revealed that Crowley must still be alive. Otherwise, how would Hastur torture him? It was a small comfort, but Aziraphale clung to it nonetheless, and with this strength, he lashed out again.</p><p>This time, Hastur didn’t attempt to dodge his blow. Instead, his right hand turned aflame, and it reached out to grab Aziraphale’s feathers, burning fingers closing around primaries. Aziraphale let out a horrified shriek when the fire spread across white feathers with a fierce hunger.</p><p>He stumbled backward, only to have Hastur’s left hand close around his throat, the right one bringing the flame closer to his face.</p><p>“Always wanted to roast a pigeon.” Hastur smiled, and his breath made Aziraphale’s eyes water. “Noisy things.”</p><p>As the pain grew with the flames, Aziraphale flapped his left wing in an attempt to smolder it. Hastur didn’t try to stop him, and Aziraphale realized too late that his flailing movements had allowed embers to fly. Heat was burning his back. The fire had spread to the bookshelf, and it was now feeding on the bookshop with newfound hunger.</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale cried in horror and landed a well-planted kick to Hastur’s knee, causing the demon to kneel and break his grip on his throat. Eager to get away from both the flames and the demon, Aziraphale threw himself forward with all his strength, pushing Hastur aside and drawing his wings closer to his body.</p><p>As the angel desperately killed the fire in his feathers with his bare hands, Hastur took the time to waltz around and lit every book that came within reach on fire. With tears in his eyes, Aziraphale watched as the demon trailed his flaming hand along an entire shelf.</p><p>A faint humming cut its way through the painful haze, and Aziraphale turned his head towards the circle that remained active. Aziraphale blinked, trying to collect his thoughts. He coughed once as the smoke grew thicker.</p><p>The circle. He’d kept Shadwell away from it because- Well, things had been bad already without a human dying under his watch. It would obliterate the human body. <em>Any </em>body, really.</p><p>Aziraphale eyed Hastur who was still distracted by his own arson. Technically, sending a demon straight to Heaven would not exactly earn him a commendation, but this was getting out of hand, and the army of Heaven would be much more suited to deal with the threat.</p><p>If only he could get Hastur closer to the circle…</p><p>He did have the perfect bait. Himself.</p><p>His wing screamed in protest when he moved, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but groan as he forced his shaking legs to walk across the wooden floor. The smoke was making his eyes sting and worsened his growing headache.</p><p>“Fleeing? Doesn’t surprise me from a wankwings.”</p><p>Aziraphale coughed, and he couldn’t exactly explain to Hastur that no; he was actually finding the strength to make one last attempt to kill the demon. That would ruin the whole plan, and Aziraphale was rather proud of it. It was the only one he had.</p><p>Except, he never got the chance to see if it’d work.</p><p>Hastur kicked the nearest bookshelf and watched in pleasure how it wobbled, books falling into the awaiting flames, until it tipped over and crashed on top of Aziraphale who didn’t manage to jump away in time. He did try, but the burning books were tearing at his attention, and he only managed one stop before he was kneeling, leg giving out beneath him.</p><p>The bookshelf hit him with the force of a delivery truck, sending him into a suffocating darkness.</p><p>Aziraphale came to while coughing. The weight on his back barely allowed his chest to move, and every cough felt as if it was slicing his throat open. A few attempts proved that his head and right wing were free, but no amount of flapping could pull loose the rest of his body that remained trapped beneath the burning shelf. Aziraphale twisted his head and found himself staring at <em>The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter</em>.</p><p>The book had somehow ended up on the floor, just out of reach.</p><p>The fallen bookshelf had sent a burning scroll rolling in its direction. Aziraphale’s terror made it feel like it was happening in slow-motion, the scroll defying time until it soundless bumped against the book. Aziraphale could do nothing but blink when the flames made contact with the corner of the book and began to eat the old pages.</p><p>Aziraphale tried to reach for it, but his fingers merely twitched, arm trapped beneath broken wood. His throat was too sore to speak.</p><p>The sight of the burning book was blocked by Hastur who kneeled by his head with a satisfied grin on his face. “Did I thank you for setting me free? I didn’t. How rude. Good.” His fingers dug into Aziraphale’s hair, maggots falling into the curls. Aziraphale tried to shake his head free, but Hastur didn’t hesitate to slam his face against the floor with enough strength to make the wood groan.</p><p>Something cracked. Blood filled Aziraphale’s mouth, crawling down his throat until he couldn’t help but gag. The awful taste gave him something to focus on besides the pain.</p><p>Hastur repeated the motion with terrifying ease, and this time, Aziraphale’s vision turned black for a moment. When it returned to him, it remained hazy around the edges.</p><p>The only thing keeping his head upright was Hastur’s grip on his hair.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” the demon told him, but the voice sounded so distant. Aziraphale struggled to remain awake, though a growing part of him would appreciate an escape from the pain. A coward to the end, truly. “He’ll get your message.”</p><p>The doorbell could be heard over the sound of the crackling fire.</p><p>“Angel!” Crowley called out as he stormed into the burning shop. He came to a halt, and he was nothing but a black figure in Aziraphale’s swimming vision. He would recognize that voice anywhere, even when it was trembling in disbelief. “No.”</p><p>“Yes. Your angel just couldn’t wait for the beep.”</p><p>“Hastur.” Aziraphale could hear Crowley failing to conceal his panic. The angel would have shared it, but even that seemed to require too much energy from him. There was heat tormenting his back, and yet he couldn’t find the strength to even wince. “Let’s not-“</p><p>“S’quite hot in here.” Hastur tightened his grip to the point where Aziraphale believed he was simply trying to pull the hair from his skull. “It’ll be hotter in Hell.”</p><p>“No!” Crowley cried. “Aziraphale!”</p><p>The bookshop was gone alongside the heat. Only a few of his senses remained. Aziraphale gagged when his mouth was filled with the taste of rotting leaves. It was choking him, crawling deeper inside him.</p><p>Aziraphale felt something tighten around his wrist, a familiar touch, and he was fairly aware that he was falling, slowly, sinking downwards, down and down and down with Hastur laughing into his ear.</p><p>Their destination was easy to guess, judging from the direction.</p><p>They landed in Hell rather unceremoniously as a tangled mess of white and black and red. Aziraphale remained limp, even at the impact against the cold floor. Hastur landed next to him, kneeling, while Crowley fell on top of him, still holding onto his wrist.</p><p>It might sound arrogant to call them lucky, but they were. They’d just about avoided landing on top of Beelzebub whose mood would have grown even sour if their hat had been crushed by the newcomers.</p><p>Instead, they had landed right at the feet of the Army of Hell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I too would get very upset had they crushed Beelzebub's hat because I do admire it with much.</p><p>Here we go. A long one. Real long one. I'm so excited though. Hope you are as well. Frightfully little Crowley and Aziraphale interaction in this chapter, I admit, but I'll make up for that.</p><p>A lot of the added dialogue in this chapter is shamelessly taken from deleted dialogue from the show (thank you, The Nice and Accurate Script Book). </p><p>This story was brought to you by my obsession with Aziraphale whump, protective Crowley, and Archangels getting their asses handed to them. Support is appreciated.</p><p>Big thank you to aziraiphale for editing and helping plan out this annoying timeline!</p><p>As always: English isn't my native language so I apologize for any mistake I didn't catch, and I can be found as riathedreamer on tumblr.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Revolving Doors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley and Aziraphale in Hell while Armageddon is about to unfold.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was blood on Aziraphale’s coat. The red stains clashed ridiculously with the beige color. It was ripped now, the coat, and the hem was now covered in a layer of dirt from Hell. It was easy to focus on – Aziraphale’s ruined, beloved coat – rather than the angel’s bloodied face, the bruises around his neck, the mangled feathers…</p><p>It was easier to just look at his coat and think <em>‘Fuck’</em> instead of watching Hastur loom over the white wings that were getting more and more bloody by the second. Some of the feathers were still covered in soot, hiding nasty burns on the skin.</p><p>Aziraphale was quiet because Crowley had told him to be so – “Don’t say anything. Let me do the talking,” Crowley had frantically whispered into his ear before they’d been pulled apart and dragged into the nearest torture chamber – and whenever a whimper would escape the angel’s closed mouth, Crowley’s chains would rattle as he struggled to restrain himself.</p><p>“Really, Hastur, skipping the Armageddon, all for me? How flattering. It’s a one-time event, you know. Mainly because all life is gone once it’s over.”</p><p>It didn’t work. Hastur was still fully focused on the angel, and a pile of feathers was growing at his feet, bloody and twisted after the demon’s hands had torn them out with brutal strength.</p><p>Crowley felt sick staring at them. A newly freed primary had blood dripping from its broken end.</p><p>“Hastur. <em>The </em>Hastur,” he continued helplessly. It was better to let the words spill out of his mouth rather than the bile that was gathering at the back of his throat. “Didn’t they put you on front lines? You and-“</p><p>The name went unspoken as Crowley bit into his tongue until he could taste blood. Stupid – that was bloody stupid. Ligur hadn’t been dead for a day, and Hastur was obviously still upset. The emotion was revealed in the shape of anger as no one would openly dare to show empathy in Hell. They’d probably lost the skill to do so a long time ago.</p><p>Crowley, however, could barely hide the agony currently tearing his chest open from the inside.</p><p>When Hastur tore out another handful of feathers, Aziraphale flapped the wounded wing in desperation. It hit the wall, causing the angel to moan again, entire body shaking. The chains gave his shivering away.</p><p>They were hanging from the ceiling, attached to the wrists, leaving them dangling just above the floor. It blocked any attempts of miracles and forced their wings to materialize. The tips of Crowley’s primaries were brushing against the dirty floor, and in the back of his mind, this sensation had settled as a growing annoyance, just the thought of having his feathers bend like this…</p><p>Then he’d stare at Aziraphale’s mangled wings, and guilt would settle in his stomach like a rock.</p><p>“But I get why you would hang back,” Crowley called out, every word more desperate than the former. “No one getting smote- smite- smitten? By Archangels, am I-“</p><p>“You talk when you’re nervous,” Hastur said. He didn’t even look over his shoulder to meet his fellow demon’s stare.</p><p>“Me? No. I talk all the time. Can’t shut up, me. You’ve told me to, many times, remember-“</p><p>Hastur shook his hand to get rid of the bloody down that stuck to it.</p><p>Crowley wanted to close his eyes.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>If Aziraphale had to suffer, Crowley would offer what little comfort he could give.</p><p>The whimpers had stopped.</p><p>“Your angel’s being quiet.”</p><p>His angel. It was easy to overthink those words. Crowley had used them himself before. Only mentally, of course. His angel – Aziraphale. Not like he hung around any other angels.</p><p>Once, that little pronoun would have brought him secret glee. Now, it was horrifying, especially when it came from Hastur’s mouth.</p><p>Crowley forced his eyes to stay open and spoke with lips so dry that they cracked and bled, “S’not really painting you in a good light, is it? My apologies, sorry; <em>bad </em>light.”</p><p>“Torturing an angel?” Hastur snorted. “We’re not all like you, Crawly. Some of us remember our purpose.”</p><p>“Torturing a <em>captured </em>angel,” Crowley corrected him, knowing he had to keep pushing to regain Hastur’s attention. “Lots of angels up there. Lot of them about to be tortured. Eventually. Once we’ve killed ‘nough of them. I bet people are lining up to book an hour with <em>the </em>Archangel Gabriel. But, of course, this might be more your level.”</p><p>“This is practice.” Hastur twisted a feather until Aziraphale let out a horrible mewl of pain. “Just wait till I move onto you.”</p><p>“I am waiting,” Crowley shot back breathlessly. “Not really anything else to do, now that you’re pointing it out. Are you bringing in the rack? Bet you’re bringing back the whip. Good ol’ cat o’ nine tails. Very traditional. Not very big fan of originality, are you, Hastur? You could at least spice it up a bit.”</p><p>Finally, Hastur turned his head to return his glare. His black eyes were gleaming dangerously. “I think I have,” he said. “You’re already squirming.”</p><p>The demon didn’t settle with a feather this time. Instead, he let a finger trail down the angel’s shaking wing until he neared the tip. With a flick of his wrist, the bone broke.</p><p>Aziraphale wailed, and Crowley wasn’t sure if he managed to hide his wince. His entire face felt numb.</p><p>“Creativity is my thing,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like your style, really.”</p><p>“We’re going to have eternity together. Imagine that.”</p><p>Crowley gulped. “I can.” He really wished he couldn’t.</p><p>His treacherous brain was already conjuring up images of the extent of Hastur’s damage after enough time. Eternity was a bitch like that.</p><p>“Plenty of time for both of you.”</p><p>“But not <em>now</em>,” Crowley said. “Can’t be long before the big boom. Good thing you’re ready for it, all the angel-skewing and burning and- and flaying. I suppose you’ve got plenty to prove out there, ‘specially once Hell hears how much you <em>squealed </em>at the sight of Holy Water-“</p><p>Pain flared across his face, and Crowley smiled, barring bloody teeth as he stared at Hastur who’d finally chosen a new victim.</p><p>“I didn’t squeal,” the demon growled. Even the toad looked rather offended.</p><p>“No. Sorry. You’re right,” Crowley said, nodding. “<em>Screamed</em>. Like a little girl.”</p><p>Another punch, this time against his chest. Crowley bit down on his lip. He’d taken worse before, truly, but that didn’t make his ribs stop aching now.</p><p>“Talk all you want, Crawwwly.” Hastur dragged out the name like they’d done when they’d hunted him down in his apartment. Between his fingers, Hastur held a single bloodstained feather and waved it in front of Crowley’s face. “It won’t save you. Or him,” he said, watching the yellow eyes trail the feather. “I’ll be back. And then I’m going to work on him until he’s <em>begging</em> you to kill him. If he’s lucky, you’ll help me drag him to the hounds.”</p><p>Hastur reached for the front of Crowley’s jacket, brushing against bruised ribs, and opened it, so he could place the feather inside an inner pocket.</p><p>“Hold on to this for me. I’ll return for the rest.”</p><p>At his words, Crowley fell slack in his chains. Hastur chuckled as he walked away, out of the metal door that locked behind him. The bars at the top of the door allowed for light to fall into the office that had turned into a torture chamber a long time ago.</p><p>Through it, they could see the shadows of the Army of Hell, and they could faintly hear the echoes of the war cries Dagon was instigating. It’d be happening soon. At least the demons would be kept busy. Beezlebub had only had the time to declare Crowley a traitor and promising he would pay for his crimes once there was a hole in their schedule.</p><p>Crowley waited another endless moment, holding his breath. First then he dared to seek Aziraphale’s eyes.</p><p>“Aziraphale? Angel?”</p><p>The angel’s chin had been resting against his chest, but now he shakily raised his head, speaking for the first time since they’d been chained. “M’sorry.” His breath hitched when he attempted to pull his wings closer – an evidently bad idea.</p><p>“Nah. No. You were great, you did great,” Crowley said and let comforting words spill out of his mouth without thinking too long about it. “We’ll fix it. Fix your wings. I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll fix it. You just need to hold on ‘till then. Aziraphale.” Crowley stopped right there, at his name, and he knew he wanted to say more; he just wasn’t sure what.</p><p>“I’ll manage, my dear,” Aziraphale said and offered a weak smile. “They’ll grow out. Nothing-“ He winced again, cracking the dried blood beneath his nose. “Nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“Plenty to worry about. Big bloody blessed mess with the word ‘<em>WORRIES</em>’ written on it,” Crowley hissed. The chains were keeping him from slipping into his snake-shape as well. “I-“</p><p>The demon was cut off by barking down the narrow hallway, bouncing against the walls until it reached them. The sound made Aziraphale go one shade paler.</p><p>The hellhounds’ claws scraped against the metal for a moment, and both Aziraphale and Crowley held their breaths. In their silence, the sniffing seemed deafening inside the darkened room.</p><p>With Armageddon at their doorstep, the dogs couldn’t stay here. They had to leave, Crowley thought desperately, they had to move on. It wasn’t really worthy of a treat – to sniff out the one angel already trapped in Hell.</p><p>A disappointed howl worked as a threatening goodbye before the Hellhounds left them alone. They weren’t truly given orders – Hell could only pretend to have that level of command – but their nature would drive them to the battleground to soothe their thirst for angelic blood.</p><p>Crowley sighed deeply in relief. The chamber was small enough that Crowley could see every bruise on Aziraphale’s face, yet he couldn’t even touch the angel if he stretched out his leg. He lowered his voice and said, “Don’t talk too loud. Maybe just not talk. Acoustics are horrible here, you can hear everything. Big design fail, that. Hell needs better architects. Makes meetings efficient, though. Everyone gets to hear what’s said, even if they aren’t meant to.”</p><p>“I’m sorry-“</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley protested because if one should feel guilty, it should be him. Not that it was within his demonic nature to feel so – quite the contrary, in fact – but this whole mess was caused by Hastur getting to Aziraphale through the phone line, and who had left Hastur in the voicemail in the first place? Crowley had.</p><p>He’d even been aware of the danger. The moment he’d fled to the Bentley, he’d called Aziraphale… And his line had been busy.</p><p>“Third alternative rendezvous,” Aziraphale said and bowed his head in shame. “I lied.”</p><p>Crowley thought back on the scene at the bandstand, the hurtful words they’d flung at each other.</p><p>“I know,” he said, swallowing. “Doesn’t matter. Water under the bridge, bridge under the- Doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“I should’ve told you-“</p><p>“I know, angel, I know,” Crowley said to make him stop. They couldn’t afford this, not now. Later – there would be a later do this.</p><p>“You don’t,” Aziraphale said, sounding frustrated rather than pained. It could count as a nice change. “I could have…” The angel looked up at him, and the frustration had already seeped away, replaced by despair. “What are we going to do?”</p><p>“Can’t tell you, angel. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I was supposed to protect them.”</p><p>First then it occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale wasn’t talking about the two of them, strung up in Hell to be tortured for the rest of eternity. He was talking about Earth that was about to be bitch-slapped by the Apocalypse.</p><p>Some days, Crowley wondered if he had a heart. Right now, he was pretty sure Aziraphale had just melted it.</p><p>“Not from this, angel. That wasn’t your duty. Wasn’t your fault, either.”</p><p>Guilt had still settled among the hurt in Aziraphale’s expression.</p><p>“Look at the bright side!” Crowley tried desperately. “Once your side has kicked Hastur’s and the others’ arses with their holiness, they have to come and wreck this place. They’ll get you out.”</p><p>“Don’t be foolish, Crowley. They would destroy you.”</p><p>Crowley opened his mouth to protest.</p><p>“And me as well,” Aziraphale continued with a designated sigh. “I received a visit before, well, my other visit. Both a rather unpleasant surprise.” He closed his eyes. “They know.”</p><p>Crowley felt that one fragile hope shatter and disappear. Despite all the bets in the past, he hadn’t really counted on Hell to win. He had the first-person experience with their shitty management, after all. When Heaven won, it’d suck for him, sure, but it could be Aziraphale’s salvation…</p><p>But not with the Arrangement brought into the light.</p><p>“Alright. Alright, well-“ Crowley wanted to continue but he didn’t have the right words. Not yet. He had to keep thinking, had to come up with a new plan, had to find some way to comfort Aziraphale. Through the millennia, Crowley had been the one to preach about how Heaven doesn’t do forgiveness, so the following words felt hollow in his mouth. “You haven’t Fallen. It can’t be that bad.”</p><p>“I should have said yes,” Aziraphale moaned, bound hands twisting into fists. “I wanted to go with you. But I was scared.”</p><p>“Nah, you wanted to do the right thing. See – no one can stay mad at an angel who’s like that. Too- too bloody pure, that’s what you are.”</p><p>That did it. Aziraphale smiled, and while it was small and vulnerable, it practically lit up the room.</p><p>Crowley was about to return it when they felt it. He figured the angel would be touched by it as well, however, he wasn’t sure if it hit him harder due to his demonic connection to the Antichrist. It didn’t have a sound – it wasn’t like the seven trumpets of Heaven – but it rang inside his bones, vibrating with heavy dread.</p><p>It’d happened. Armageddon wasn’t just <em>starting </em>– the Antichrist had officially cut the ribbon and it was on.</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, terrified.</p><p>The demon tried not to choke on his own fear. “It’s fine. It’s fine, angel. They’ve left. They’re busy. Both sides. So we- we have all the time to think, yes?”</p><p>They may be too late to save the Earth, but they couldn’t afford to think about that duty (or moral obligation, self-indulgent heroism, or whatever you might call it) when they were still in peril.</p><p>Crowley tested the strength of the chains, jerking his wrists and earning nothing but bleeding skin.</p><p>Aziraphale attempted to move as well, but it only took a second before a pained wail escaped him. A loose feather now fell from his bloody wing ever so slowly. The bile rose in Crowley’s throat again. “Don’t move.”</p><p>Crowley would do the hard work. He was good at that. So he pulled and twisted and tore at the chains. He tried to use enough force to break his wrists, but he had no such luck. As time passed, his frustration grew, and when the chains didn’t give up after the hundredth tug, Crowley simply let it all out.</p><p>He cursed and screamed and kicked. He flailed his wings until they smacked against the dirty wall, leaving him dangling back and forth in the chains as he fell limp.</p><p>“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded him. “Don’t hurt yourself further, please. Things are- are dire enough already, I suppose.”</p><p>“You cannot expect me to give up.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Aziraphale said softly. “And I haven’t, either.”</p><p>“Good.” Bloody good. Crowley wasn’t sure what would happen in the angel lost hope, and he preferred not to imagine it. “Hold on, and I’ll deal with it. I’ll get us out.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s bent wing suddenly jerked downwards, and for a moment, Crowley almost though the heard him swear in pain.</p><p>“Stop moving them!”</p><p>“I’m not,” Aziraphale groaned. He kept his eyes shut until the trembling stopped. Sweat was mixing on the blood on his face. Crowley couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the angel <em>sweat</em>.</p><p>Crowley made a mental promise that he could gently put every feather back in place. He would groom the white wings, finally touch them, bury his fingers in them, willing them to heal.</p><p>His imagination came to a halt when a shadow fell from the hole in the door. Someone was watching them. Had they talked too loudly?</p><p>Crowley glared until the shadow disappeared.</p><p>Aziraphale remained quiet and, as far as Crowley could tell, unaware of the demon guard. That was just fine for Crowley who would attempt to keep it that way.</p><p>“<em>Rest</em>,” Crowley hissed gently, letting the order be tinted with demonic influence. They might have taken away most of his powers, but there was no hurt in trying to see if he could still tempt. “It’ll do you good. I’ll wake you up if something happens.”</p><p>Aziraphale blinked, eyelids already heavy. “No,” he said. “Please. If we need to think, I should be here.”</p><p>“Don’t humor yourself. I’m the cunning one, remember.”</p><p>“<em>You </em>humor me.”</p><p>Despite his protests, it was just a matter of time before Aziraphale grew limp, head tilting downwards. Crowley wasn’t sure if his temptations had actually worked or if the angel just truly was tired. That would be uncharacteristic, but Hell was never kind on angels. Either way, Crowley liked to believe that his low humming had helped. It’d be melodies from the past, records they’d listened to in the bookshop, hummed in the same gentle tone he’d used to lull Warlock to sleep back in the days.</p><p>Crowley could use a nap himself, but he didn’t dare to do so. Not when Aziraphale, for the very first time, was sleeping in front of him. Someone had to keep guard. Crowley had to keep pretending that he could protect the angel, for his own sake mostly.</p><p>Aziraphale woke up when the shadow fell again – this time, the demon stepped inside, and the metal door creaked loudly. Clearly remembering Crowley’s advice about shutting up when around the enemy, Aziraphale bit down on his lip.</p><p>That left Crowley to take control of the situation.</p><p> “You,” he said, tilting his head. “Come to gloat?”</p><p>The demon was one face among many, and while Crowley recognized him, he couldn’t remember a name. He only remembered the names of the ones who’d try to hurt him – that made it easier to talk his way out of punishment. This guy would be one the lackies Hastur wouldn’t think twice about killing if in a bad mood.</p><p>The problem with unimportant demons was their hunger for power. For example, this demon had clearly realized he was the only one not wearing chains. He was in control of the situation.</p><p>Or, that was what Crowley let him believe.</p><p>“No,” the demon said and came closer. “I’m just bored.”</p><p>“I know you,” Crowley purred.</p><p>“Yeah? What’s my name then?”</p><p>(The demon’s name was actually Eric, but Crowley’s first guess would have been Anders. Or Smith. Andersmith, maybe.)</p><p>Crowley didn’t dare to guess – instead, he smiled. “Don’t you know not to give your name to a demon?”</p><p>The demon grinned back at him. “Heh. That’s a good one.” He turned towards Aziraphale with the same badly hidden interest as Warlock the day he’d been gifted a canary in a small cage. The bird had been named Birdbrain, and Nanny Ashtoreth had managed to convince Brother Francis that it was a compliment because everyone knows parrots are bloody smart. “Ain’t that scary up close. Didn’t they have halos once?”</p><p>“Went out of fashion,” Crowley replied dryly. “Come to get your own feather?”</p><p>“No. I’m allergic. Why?”</p><p>“Because I bet everyone else’s gonna return from the battle with plumed hats,” Crowley said in that one tone that could balance on the sharp edge between pity and condescension. “Dunno why you got punished by being stuck with us, but Hell doesn’t frown on fraud now, does it? I just figured you’d get your victory spoils early. Already got mine, you see?”</p><p>Crowley puffed out his chest so the feather could be seen, protruding from the pocket Hastur had left it in.</p><p>The demon took a step towards him, fingers twitching. “I could just take yours.”</p><p>“If you’re that scared, sure,” Crowley said and tried to shrug with his hands bound above his head. “Ain’t that much to brag about, though. If you really want a shiny primary, I’d hurry if I were you. They were talking of plucking him once they come back.”</p><p>Turning on his heel, the demon chose to face Aziraphale instead. The angel was hanging limply, quiet, not even looking up at him. An easy victim for a coward.</p><p>“Might just make me a down pillow,” the demon said, trying to sound threatening. He almost succeeded as he advanced on his unconscious victim.</p><p>Except, Aziraphale wasn’t unconscious.</p><p>The moment the demon came close enough, Aziraphale raised his leg and gave the demon a kick that managed to achieve the following three things: send the demon flying across the room; b) break his ribs with a loud crack, and; c) make Crowley wince on his behalf.</p><p>The demon would have hit the wall had Crowley not been in the way. He didn’t catch his fellow demon to save him the pain of smacking the back of his head against bricks – instead, he sprung into action as fast as a cobra. Crowley had <em>legs </em>that were long and slim and limber, and now he coiled them around the poor demon, keeping him in place and adding more pressure by the second.</p><p>Crowley grinned in pleasure, sensing the sudden fear in the room. “You’re not afraid of death. No demon is. Torture – <em>please</em>. Child’s play. But have you ever tried a holy smiting?” Crowley could feel the demon gulp in his grip. “Let me out,” Crowley <em>hissed </em>with all the demonic influence he could gather, lowering his mouth as close to the demon’s head as possible.</p><p>The demon snapped his fingers, and the locks sprung upon. Crowley fell on top of him, bruising his already sore body, but quickly jumped to his feet to force the demon into the chains to take his place.</p><p>First then could he turn towards Aziraphale. He didn’t open the locks until he was close enough to catch the angel when he fell.</p><p>“Good work, angel,” Crowley grunted as he struggled to keep them both standing. “Nasty kick, that.”</p><p>Aziraphale tried to stand on his own, only to have his knees buckle right away. “Oh dear.” He held up a hand when Crowley pulled him upright. “Just- I need a moment.”</p><p>“Don’t have one,” Crowley said and tightened his grip. “Lean on me. Don’t want to stay here longer than necessary.”</p><p>As they tried to get through the doorway, Crowley accidentally brushed against Aziraphale’s wing, and he immediately cowered when the angel cried. “Sorry. Sorry!”</p><p>Aziraphale fell quiet but continued to shiver as Crowley led him through the hallways of Hell. The place was eerily empty, allowing them to stumble their way towards the main exit.</p><p>“Luck of the Devil,” Crowley said under his breath. “Luck of bloody, blessed-“</p><p>“Let’s not test it, shall we?” Aziraphale said gently. He remained awake, thank someone, and his eyes were alert, however, Crowley did notice the tightness of his jaw. This was taking more effort than they could give.</p><p>Which was why they needed the main entrance. It would take them back to London, which was a curse and a blessing at once, but it would also save them any need of miracles that could be tracked.</p><p>Crowley forced them to walk faster, holding Aziraphale tighter every time he stumbled.</p><p>It was a comfort when an amused snort left the angel as he took the time to read the signs that decorated the halls. He must be missing his books.</p><p>“Have you?” Aziraphale asked, nodding towards the ‘<em>PLEASE do not LICK the WALLS</em>’ sign.</p><p>“What?” Crowley said, unable to tear his eyes away from the end of the hallway. They were getting closer to the exit.</p><p>“Licked the wall?”</p><p>“No,” Crowley lied. “Up we go.”</p><p>It was a tight fit on the escalator that first began to move the moment they stepped on it. Crowley held Aziraphale against his chest, knowing he couldn’t let go. He looked up, preparing himself to break the surface like he’d done a countless times before, when he noticed the difference.</p><p>The water wasn’t aqua.</p><p>It was red like blood.</p><p>Aziraphale gasped as they broke the surface, and Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the unusual sensation or the color that shook him. He didn’t ask. He didn’t have the words.</p><p>For a moment, he wasn’t sure if they’d escaped Hell. It didn’t look like it.</p><p>Gone was the office building, the shiny walls, the bright windows, the revolving door. It’d all been replaced by debris, broken glass, gaping walls that allowed them to take a look at London.</p><p>Or, what was left of it.</p><p>Aziraphale sagged in his embrace, crying soundlessly. Crowley almost let them both fall to the ground.</p><p>Humans had pictured this, the End Times. Post-apocalypse. It’d had its own shelf in the libraries, its own genre. Crowley had seen representations much like this.</p><p>A city reduced to ruins. Buildings looking like skulls, staring at them with empty windows and cracked walls. The roads were filled with bricks and fallen lamp posts, pavement torn open.</p><p>Above them, the sky was red, roaring with thunder. It was a scary sight, even if you couldn’t spot the signs of the battle that was unfolding. Sharp flashes, distant screams, small figures against the darkened clouds.</p><p>Crowley lowered his stare, letting his head fall to rest against Aziraphale’s. The angel was crying into his jacket.</p><p>What could Crowley say?</p><p>There were no humans, no bookshop, no Bentley. All destroyed.</p><p>Still, Crowley wanted to go looking. If he had his car, maybe they could get away from here. They could flee. But the roads were useless, and they couldn’t afford to get close to the bookshop where Crowley had parked it. That would be the first place they would come looking for them.</p><p>They needed a new shelter, somewhere safe in a world that had ended…</p><p>Crowley’s hope had fled from him, but with Aziraphale semi-unconscious against him, he couldn’t just give up and get drunk. He couldn’t head for Alpha Centauri either. There wasn’t much he could do, but it didn’t change the fact that he <em>needed </em>to bring them to a safe haven, if just for a moment.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he said, forcing his voice to be more secure than his will. “I know where to go. They won’t find us there. But we need to walk. You can lean on me. Always, yes? But you need to stay awake. One foot in front of the other.”</p><p>“I know how to walk, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered back at him. “It’s not a velocipede – I can manage.”</p><p>Barely. They moved, slowly, pressed against each other, Aziraphale’s head against Crowley’s shoulder, and the angel swallowing sobs every time his wounded wings touch the ground. There wasn’t much else to do but to keep moving.</p><p>Both sides were distracted above them at the moment, but they couldn’t afford to cause any distractions. That meant no miracles and no flying (though the latter option was already out; Aziraphale’s wings were far too busted to even try, and Crowley couldn’t carry him, though he wished he could).</p><p>So for now they must stay on the ground like humans, blending in with the destruction among them.</p><p>It’s the whiteness that caught Crowley’s eye. A single white angelic feather on the road. A human might confuse it with the feather of a swan, except there were no lakes near them. Crowley, however, knew exactly that this was remains of the fighting going on all around them, right now.</p><p>He steered Aziraphale away from the feather before he could spot it.</p><p>London had never been this silent before. Crowley remembered the night when the great fire had begun, when the humans had gathered the mourn the destruction at a safe distance. Crowley and Aziraphale had been among them, staring as well. There hadn’t been much to do, even for the angel, with all the hopelessness in the air.</p><p>This was worse.</p><p>The silence was broken by the heavy raindrops that splattered against the ground in front of them. Before Aziraphale could even think of moving his wings (he would, wouldn’t he, the idiot), Crowley had raised his right wing to shield Aziraphale from the rain. Aziraphale said nothing, but the memory wasn’t lost on him. Crowley wasn’t sure if it hurt more than it comforted.</p><p>Maybe ‘shield’ was the wrong word, Crowley thought as he grew more and more soaked, clothes clinging to his cold skin. ‘Hide’ was more appropriate. Aziraphale stood out like a sore thumb, too pure for this broken world.</p><p>Crowley tried not to think of the feather he’d found, tried his best not to turn it into an omen.</p><p>Step by step, he led Aziraphale out of London.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me, a Gorillaz fan, posting this chapter while humming, "Revolving doors in London to a foggy day in Boston" because "Revolving Doors" may or may not be my fave Gorillaz song of all time.</p><p>Don't worry. This isn't the last we've seen of Hell. Or Heaven, for that sake. Aziraphale and Crowley may have left for now, but the thing about revolving doors is how you can easily end up in the place you came from if you don't stay focused.</p><p>Do Crowley's legs count as a weapon? I think they do.</p><p>Did I just drop an RvB reference? I sure did. Does it count as an easter egg.</p><p>Comfort is coming. Big time. Then more pain, more comfort. It's tagged like this for a reason, and this is gonna be a long one.</p><p>Support is very much appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always: English isn't my native language so I apologize for any mistake I didn't catch, and I can be found as riathedreamer on tumblr.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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